


Connor's Disposition

by sugarby



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: It seemed like a joke in the beginning, working alongside an android. After, it became familiar and, supposedly, he should know enough now to put everything into words.(OR two months following the success of the peaceful android demonstration, Hank is given a week to evaluate Connor).





	Connor's Disposition

**Author's Note:**

> There's no way I'd fall in love with DBH and _not_ contribute to its growing fandom, no chance. (´∀｀)♡
> 
> *I'm not satisfied with the title _and_ I'm not completely sure of the order/times throughout this, but as long as it's all there! I spent two days converting the notes on my phone in to this, and I'm sure there are mistakes from editing I'll notice later with refreshed eyes. I hope this doesn't suck!

**January**  
Monday, 10:40am

Hank's first steps in to the Detroit Police Department this morning proceed in the usual fashion.

He tries,  _hopes_ , to make it to his desk discreetly, aware of but indifferent to his tardiness by a few hours. Aware of and helplessly suffering with mild a headache to accompany the strong aftertaste of whiskey. And Fowler catches him with ease through the transparent walls of his glass office and calls him inside with a thumb and a furious face. 

He stops, sighs and curses, then heads in. 

Jeffery slides a slim, plastic folder across his desk to him. It's another case; as fresh as they come, too, with the paper inside still warm from printing. "It's another android case  _with a twist_ , and it's got your name on it."

"Great." Hank wasn't naively expecting incidents involving androids would settle after the success of the demonstration.

He can't be blamed for wishful thinking though. The moment humanity agreed to perceive the machines they created to do their bidding as sentient—as  _people_ —should've also meant the end of discriminatory crime against them.

"You sure love shoving this crap my way."

"Don't start. I need you on this one asap. Reports of multiple break-ins and vandalism across town, and they're all targeted towards businesses managed by and hiring androids. Obviously not everyone's on board with the recent changes, but this is still a crime."

"I'll look in to it."

"One more thing." Jefferey slides another, slimmer folder across.

Hank picks it up with a groan, "You gotta be kidding me—"

"It's standard procedure."

"No, you just wanna give me shit 'cause I came in late again!"

"Hank, I'm not  _asking_. No one's telling you to write a goddamn love letter about him. Just evaluate him as a partner, and if it's well received, it's gonna open up more doors for androids considering entering this kind of career."

"More Connors. _Fantastic_."

"By Friday."

Hank leaves it there, agreeing with his silence. He pulls the door open with enough force for it to swing back after him (in case his annoyance isn't clear enough and the whole department needs audio clarification). Falling in to his chair at his desk, he lets out a great sigh, and drops the files on his desk. Paperwork is an eyesore in general in most jobs (even more so in this kind of career) but it has to be done.

It seemed like a joke in the beginning, working alongside an android. After, it became familiar and, supposedly, he should know enough now to put everything into words.

Where should he begin?

There's a whole lot packed into this one android. Always one step behind him in a literal sense, but miles ahead the second they arrive together at a crime scene. Obedient but also disobedient, often chasing after instinct over staying put. Highly observant, critical, blunt—

"That doesn't look like the case pertaining to the recent series of crimes against androids."

"Shit!" Hank jolts, a hand instinctively ghosting over his chest where his heart furiously palpitates. Connor is also very nosy. And freakishly quiet. He takes to looming over him, his head unnecessarily close while he inspects the papers with a questionable squint. "It's not. The fuck did you come from?"

"Cyberlife."

" _Don't._ How do you already know about the case?"

"I just arrived when I heard you shouting in the Captain's office."

"Well it's a report. On you, matter of fact."

"Me?" Connor asks, walking around the cubicle to his chair.

"Yeah. About all the ways I find you annoying."

Connor's certain that's a joke and doesn't try to dissuade him. Of course reports on his function are to be expected; that's how evaluations go, for wealthy companies mass-producing androids as well as newly recruited employees.

The wander to Amanda is inevitable, recalling all the times he would close his eyes and awaken in the fantasy-floral paradise of his consciousness, reporting to her and simultaneously reassuring himself whenever he found his path alternating. Now he sees nothing. In place of flowers and of spotlight sunshine, there is the quiet and chill of abandonment—the choice he made but ultimately feels the sting of at times too. Is this what freedom is about? Is this what was always beyond the red gates that restrained him for so long?

"Do you know what you're going to write?" 

Hank smirks. "Why, you worried?"

"No!" Connor says quicker than intended. He spends a moment reliving it and feeling discomfort. Humans call this shame. Embarrassment. Cringing? "I'm concerned because you tend to embellish unnecessarily and project unprofessional opinions.

"Like when I call you a smart-ass and a bastard?"

"Yes."

"And a prick?"

"Correct."

Hank laughs. Connor can't be serious, his feelings can't really be hurt like this. A large portion of their partnership has been him having 'fuck you' thrown in his face and he's only ever been speechless. Supposedly, then, this growing sense of being 'offended' is a sign of personality within androids. And oh, how sensitive they're turning out to be.

"Well don't you worry your plastic, little head. I'll be nice."

"Define your perspective of nice, Lieutenant."

"And ruin the surprise?" Hank purposely emphasises licking his thumb to turn over a sheet, "Not a fucking chance." 

. . .

   
19:15

Connor is  _intrusive_.

It's impulsive the first time, invading the Lieutenant's home without permission (and startling Sumo) to rescue the thought deceased but in fact unconscious body. He didn't think twice about it from the elbow jab through the window to the roll and tumble on to glass debris (which he's already paid the repairs for out of Cyberlife's pocket). In that scarce frame of time was nothing else but feeling everything stop and his vision dimmer, twisting to cloudy hues at the belief he lost Hank.

It had been an emergency.

Now, however, it's his lack of basic human boundary—a small sacrifice, apparently, in the greater makings of a technical, advanced mind.

The issued android taxi doesn't halt at the curb completely before Connor's out. Neighbours don't bother to raise heads over segregating bushes and fences at the incessant buzz of the doorbell. Connor tries the door, it opens, and he cautiously enters. He looks left, right, calls out and hears no response.

The bathroom door at the end is ajar and bright with hot steam drifting out. He goes inside, seeing silhouette, and pulls back the curtain. Hank roars in horror. "Hank, I've brought—stop screaming, it's me—" he thought the sight of him would invoke calmness, not terror. Humans are still odd in their ways. In his other hand, he holds up a banded stack of laminated photos, "I've brought photos taken at the crime scene. We should ta—"

"Are you fucking insane?!" Hank shouts, red-faced from the hot water and sudden invasion of privacy.

"I tried calling your phone but you didn't answer."

"'Cause I'm in the shower, jackass! Get the fuck out!"

Connor sidesteps a soap bar chucked his way and he takes a couple steps back, "'I'll wait in the kitchen."

Hank listens to the door click shut and groans against the tiled walls, hot water pummelling down on him. "Of course you will..."

. . .

23:37

They've gone through all the compiled evidence they have. Statements from a few interrogated witnesses—both human and android, doe eyed and troubled as they recall the events that took place outside or in their stores. Laminated photos of the attacked stores whose brand names have been defaced with derogatory slurs in thick, messy coats of crimson red paint.

Some angry, hateful, narrow minded people have taken to vandalising and stealing as some kind of warning. It's cowardly. Just a bunch of humans having an irrational crisis over losing their self-worth and value instead of allowing two races to come together.

Connor taps a finger to one of the pictures, "We should search the system for humans charged in the last two months, see if the handwriting on their statements match."

"Sure thing." Hank takes an unannounced break and leans back in his chair with a bottled beverage to his lips in zero time. He could—should be using spare time to write up that report, the small, responsible part of him nags.

The thing about writing an evaluation, especially on something as advanced as an android, isn't finding the right words to sound all poetic and metaphorical, like there's deep meaning in there. Or even hands going numb from the long list of things they're capable of doing much faster and more efficiently than humans. It's the bridge between. Making a point of the scarce things they lack or aren't capable of:   

> _. leaving a man to drink himself in to a coma. _
> 
> _. take a fucking joke. _
> 
> _. fucking knock. _

"You shouldn't do that, Hank."

"We've been at this for hours.." is Hank's justification. It's late—reaching the AM kind of late and the last thing he wants is to be lectured.

"You're unfocused enough as it is." Connor persists because he was the one sitting up straight and analysing most of the evidence more than once to be thorough. "If we leave this too long, another store—"

"Don't you ever get tired of nagging?"

" _If_ I nag it's only because you refuse to listen. Plus, androids don't get tired."

"What, ever?"

"...Well," Connor considers that androids can feel inconvenienced with the unprofessional attitude, over-indulgence in alcohol and inappropriate behaviour of humans they're involved with, but, "Not in the way humans do."

"Lucky bastard." Hank drinks some more.

Sumo hustles over to the table, completely bypasses him to get a gentle scratch behind the ear by Connor. They've bonded over a short while and it's nice to see Connor interacting with someone else.

"Can you guys get shit-faced drunk?"

"Unlikely."

"Means you're not sure. Well let's see." Hank pushes his bottle across the table and the half of whiskey remaining sloshes against the sides. Connor, eyeing it, tells him it's not a good idea, which Hank figured he would. "Tell you what. You try it and I promise I'll focus."

That's not an appropriate or logical compromise in the slightest. If Connor was expected to review Hank, he could mention that his bargaining and promises shouldn't be agreed to so easily. That he'll say whatever sometimes just to get out of something else. But it's late, the case needs to be solved and dissuading Hank any further will consume more time.

So Connor does what's called 'humouring', taking the bottle and tipping it back in his mouth. Hank, as usual, isn't easy to please, claiming it's not a real 'sip', telling him to take a 'real drink'. Connor elicits his version of a sigh and drinks what's left. 

"There you go. How you feeling?"

"As predicted, I'm fine." Connor wipes his mouth and rolls back his shoulders determinedly. He grasps a handful of papers from the spread on the table to refocus on the case. But then, suddenly mindful, he says, "Drinking is a particular right of passage often shared between a father and son."

"Yeah..." Hank thinks of Cole. Of how he planned to give him his first drink. Of how that'll never happen. His heart fill with pain. With sadness. With bitterness. "I bet Kamski's got quite the collection of drinks too."

"He's the mind behind the creation of androids but he didn't 'raise' me, so to speak. And I can't see us having a meaningful conversation."

"Hm, fair enough. Connor?"

"Yes?"

"You sure you're ok?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Connor shuffles papers in a collection, busying himself.

Hank places his hands on top of Connor's.

Connor gives him the widest eyes he's ever shown, very confused.

"Alright but I think the  _take-out menus_  are acquainted enough by now, don't you?"

 

* * *

 

_**Tuesday,**  11:45am _

Standing at a table outside Chicken Feed, Connor's head isn't as clear and focused as it should be, the impulsive drinking to satisfy his partner taking it's toll with an artificial, but very irritating, simulation of a migraine. He touches his head and flinches. He tries to scan the stray rat scavenging through a half eaten burger on the floor by the food truck and a volt of pain disrupts his concentration.

Hank, watching with a burger in hand, chuckles.

"You seem amused I'm like this."

"'Cause it's fucking hilarious."

Connor doesn't agree it is. It's annoying and a hindrance to his abilities, which in turn is a huge drawback to their solving the case. If this is just a simulation then he can't imagine being human and having to endure more severe, very real cases of viruses. They're quite common this time of year when it's cold. Some snow still falls here and there too, so humans try to duck in to the collars of their jackets.

"I'll talk to Markus. With the influx of androids seeking refuge recently, he or one of his allies might have heard something or witnessed suspicious activity."

"Wouldn't he have sent them our way to be questioned if that was the case?"

"Not if he thought it would put their welfare at risk after everything." Connor folds his arms and presses them against his chest.

Chill air comes in, brushing through Hank's unkempt hair, delicately alerting Connor's synthetic skin to its cold presence and causing him to jolt vibrantly. Small flakes of snow land in his hair too, like an added gift of the season greeting him.

"Oh, for God's sake. Here."

Connor blinks. The scarf around Hank's neck is relocated and smoothed around his. It's a match for the hue of his LED. "I don't feel the cold..."

"Shut up."

It's not the first time Connor's held himself, the difference being the time, place and no one having a gun pointed at them. Whatever the reason, if it makes Connor feel odd in some way, Hank won't press. But he won't yield or change his mind either.

"Look, I just don't wanna take any chances. One minute you're fine, the next you're shitting yourself on a rooftop 'cause you saw your life flash before your eyes."

Connor remembers. He can't forget, honestly. Connecting with the discarded android and probing its memory, seeing it get shot and feeling the bullet was the first time he ever experienced something that wasn't programmed. "Those were his memories, _not mine_. It's not as if I have a severe case of PTSD from it."

"Whatever you sa, Connor."

"It's funny. You're concerned I've lost my composure over what happened while you occasionally try to end your life in Russian Roulette."

"Yeah, well." Hank eats a bite of his burger. Chews, swallows, includes that, "Sometimes I get tired of the slow route. Drinking's still fun though. 'Till the headache kicks in anyway."

" _Hank_..."

"And I don't want to be the asshole who encourages you to jump off a bridge or anything."

"The fall wouldn't neutralise me." Connor reveals confidently, like he's fallen and lived.

Hank says, "You sure know how to tempt a man into trying though."

. . . 

_ 12:35 _

The President generously donated an entire district to all androids for temporary residence after the demonstration. It unsettled some humans, having androids as neighbours over slaves. Built in the district was a recreational centre for support for androids with specific requirements or missing components—like a troubled soul named Ralph who has severe anxiety from a horrific incident.

Markus meets them halfway, in a center point of the town, then takes them to the rear of the centre to the art room.

Long, light coloured curtains come down to the carpeted floor, open for bouts of sunshine to shine through. Chairs and canvases with half-painted studies are in a clutter around the room, their disorganised state showing a human touch within the androids using them. And a messy workbench hosting paint in jars, tubs and other things found in recycling bins.

Connor surveys the room. "Has a human been in here?"

"A few who help out with rebuilding this place, from the government or as community service."

"And have there been any reports on missing or replaced equipment recently?"

"Red paint. Someone spilt some."

Connor briefly shares a glance with Hank, "Where?"

Markus glances off to the side before he walks. He softly kneels on the carpet to lift an unstuck portion of it up—the rug in the exact same colour and shade to fool any suspicious eyes. Under it is a dark stain, nastily sprawled and embedded in to the carpet.

"Oh, shit." Hank says.

Connor crouches and scans the stain.

It's the exact same manufacturer and shade as the paint in the crime scenes, and this supposed accidental spillage has an unlikely direction. Like it was designed. With the table and wall so near to it, falling from the edge would've meant the tub would hit the wall and leave a flick of it behind. It wouldn't just hit the floor.

"This is a deliberate cover up."

Connor smears two fingers deep in to the stain, then licks his fingers and, like clockwork, finds traces of blood mixed in as well as the culprit's information. They were bleeding nd, to hide that, threw paint down to cover it. Luckily, they did a sloppy job, which means they must've been in a rush.

"Err, okay." Markus stares, "What are you doing, Connor?"

"Analysing data."

Hank comments, "I've gotta put up with that gross shit."

Connor says, "I know whose blood this is. Got his name and address."

"Fucking A."

"Not quite. It's not the guy we matched the handwriting to and arrested earlier."

"Are you fucking kidding me? So there's _two_  of them?!"

"An accomplice. Someone to vandalise the stores and someone else, with reasonable access to decorating supplies, to manage the equipment."

"Got any leads?"

Connor squints, sifting through his eidetic collection of charged criminals, "It's a twenty-two year old male. Brunet, five foot eight and..." He looks to Markus, "He's part of the community service."

Markus nods, "I'm not surprised. There are still humans who would rather see us set on fire than walking among them."

"It'll take time."

"We don't always have time. I'll tell everyone to be on their guard. If he comes back, I'll confront him."

"Markus, no, you should leave this to us."

"We've sacrificed a lot to get where we are today, Connor. The last thing we need is more conflict. I'm still fighting, and maybe I always will be, so I don't intend to sit back and wait for justice when I can help get it."

Hank s, "Just don't go doing anything stupid okay, Markus? Or you'll be in trouble too."

"Don't worry about me." Markus shows an appreciative smile to the Lieutenant, gives an understanding nod to Connor, and leaves with the gleam of sunlight across his back.

Connor stands up and watches him go, a sense of trust in him.

Hank stands next to him, "I've realised something from this. That you're probably in to some kinky shit."

   
. . .

 

_ 16:10 _

Connor is considerate.

To an admirable and annoying point. And humans doesn't entirely deserve it either. It's more or less leftovers from having to serve them for so long, obeying the iconic laws of robotics by putting their worth and wellbeing above all else.

Gavin Reed is the resident asshole of the department, as everyone knows. He's arrogant, his jokes are borderline controversial, and the second Connor returns to the station, he's relentless. "Holy shit. You fucking serious?"

"Hello, Detective Reed."

"Aww, look here, everybody. It's got a scarf. Is this little robot cold, huh? Wanna be like us that much? God, that's fucking weird."

Connor moves along to sit at his desk. He doesn't say anything about what's just happened, even though he can hear Gavin still laughing and talking about him in the background without restraint.

Hank scoffs irritably. "What a prick. Next time, Connor, do us all a favour and knock him out."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. Fuck's sake."

"It could've been worse. He could've punched me like last time--"

Hank blinks his eyes wider, "He fucking  _what_?!" He looks like he's just been slapped in the face. Instead of letting Connor repeat or try and figure out where this is going, he gets up and walks, on course for Gavin.

"Shit." Connor curses behind gritted teeth. He didn't expect it to bother Hank this much. He scoots away from his desk and follows after him, "Lieutenant!"

"Don't try to stop me. Why the fuck am I only hearing about this now?!"

Connor can't lie and pretend it's because he knew this would the reaction, otherwise Hank would ask why he mentioned it all. So he's honest, "It wasn't affecting our tasks. Besides, I don't feel pain."

"What about just having the common sense not to take that shit lying down, huh?!" Hank exclaims. By now, a good amount of their colleagues spaced around are watching them.

"Please!" Connor calls as he weaves between the few employees standing around eating donuts and conversing, "Making  a scene won't solve anything!"

"Oh, come on! The whole station's been waiting years for a reason to sack him!"

"Hank," Connor's enough now to reach him and put his hands on his chest, "I'm begging you."

"For fuck's sake! Alright, I'll leave it."

Connor relaxes.

"Gavin's an asshole."

"I'm not disagreeing with you. Look, I can see it's upset you and I'm sorry. I'll let you know when it happens next time."

Hank pointedly swears with enough fury to set a match to the world, "There better not fucking be a next time!" 

* * *

 

 _ **Wednesday,** 17:12 _ 

_"Hello. Is...is this Connor?"_

Connor's memory presents a flattering pixie cut on an AX400 android.

A surrogate mother to a little girl among the clashing of humankind and androids. With round, blue eyes that always reflect her in them. Always looking to that little girl and being equally frightened and hopeful.

"Yes. How did you come by this number?"

 _"Markus."_  She names and it explains everything. That name has become a public figure, representing many individuals now with a clear message of peace and freedom.  _"I'm calling because I thought I'd let you know that Alice and I are doing okay. Better than okay, actually. She goes to a nice school, we have a nice house. Canada's great."_

"I'm pleased to hear that."

_"And I wanted to thank you. For letting us go that time. On the highway."_

Connor envisions what it would've been like if he'd caught them that day and feels a discomfort in his gut. Does he deserve her thanks? She's just feeling obligated, right? Everything he's done up until now has been in favour of humans, not androids. He has a long way to go before he can come to terms with that and find himself, make himself a life.

"I almost killed you. How can you just forg—"

_"We're okay, that's what matters_ _."_

"What's your name?"

"Kara."

"Thank you, Kara."

_"Bye, Connor."_

Connor hears the dial tone, puts the phone down. He doesn't know how to feel. This emotion is new. He supposes it's happiness.

When Hank comes by, he asks why he's smiling. And tells him to stop because it's to an excessive, creepy amount. Connor apologises but honestly, he doesn't know how to make it go away, or if he even  _wants_  it to.

 

* * *

 

_**Thursday,**  10:49am  
_

Connor is likeable.

He looks and sounds goofy. That's what Hank thought and even told him to his face. It has the opposite reaction across a number of women though, and some men, for a reason Hank doesn't want to endeavour into.

While working on his computer and having to search a lot, he's glimpsed at sketchy links to fanmade sites praising the good looks and deeds of Connor. The site is plastered in candid photos of him out on his patrols, sometimes aware of the audience and friendly to them, sometimes blurry while in mid chase of a suspect. Either way, whatever the picture, the comments section is full of people swearing they're 'DYING' and 'SHOOKETH'.

Hank has lost so much respect for humanity, he didn't think he could lose a bit more.

Connor comes in from another early patrol with a bundle of gifts in a basket. "Morning, Lieutensnt."

Hank watches the basket be set on the desk. He stares through the transparent wrap at the eyes of the plushies staring back lifelessly. "The fuck is all fhis?"

"Gifts from civilians I met while patrolling. It seems I've gained quite a following."

"Is it your birthday or something? Do you even  _have_  a birthday?"

"In a way. I was manufactured and officially operating in August. I suppose these are signs of appreciation from a minority of admirers."

"Connor."

"Yes?"

Hank wonders if he even should. Fuck it. This'll be a good laugh. He swings his screen around and waits.

Connor leans in, "That's...me. Well, parts of me." his finger lands on part of the screen, "They seem to be fond of emphasising my—" the screen blackens. Confused, he looks to Hank not too subtly kicking the unplugged computer mains under his chair.

_**. . .** _

_ 13:10 _

Connor is ridiculous.

"Here?" Hank asks, jaw dropping. He looks around the room—the one room with pale blue walls, blue carpet and a radiator, before his eyes come back to Connor standing in the centre. "You're gonna live  _here_?"

"It's convenient."

"It's a fucking box. Like what you probably came in. Oh my God, is that why?!"

"Androids aren't top of the list for the best accommodation." Connor reminds him, which is just sad. 

"You can't even fit a bed in here!"

"Androids don't get tired. We can run in a lower power setting though."

Hank throws his hands up, at wits end, because what he's describing is literally  _sleep mode_. The fuck?

"I'll be alright, Hank."

"Shut up. You're coming home with me, end of discussion."

Connor follows, unlikely to ever really disobey Lieutenant when he's this stubborn, and finds he doesn't once look back at the 'box' apartment he considered starting a new life in.

. . .

 _21:00  _ 

Connor is curious.

At the oddest of times too. They're watching a film—supposedly 'horror' but so far, it's disappointing—and the scene is on a couple trying to be intimate while a masked killer is in their home.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?"

Hank's eyes roll behind their kids. He's beyond tired of this. "No...." But seeing the stuck expression on Connor's face, he gives in. "Fine. What?"

"Why are you alone?"

" _What_?"

"Most humans enjoy the company of others and seek long term partners. You don't seem to be looking."

"What about you, Connor? You're not just a machine, right? So why ain't you looking?"

"I don't find myself interested in that sort of thing."

"Well you thought that android back at Kamski's was pretty, didn't you?"

"From an objective view, she's designed to be."

"Way to dodge the fucking bullet."

"Completing tasks and solving cases takes up my time anyway."

"And here come the excuses. Get a hobby."

"What do you propose?"

"Just find something worthwhile. It doesn't have to be a girl, there's just more to life than working you know. Like this." He lazily motions to the TV playing a classic horror film he put on.

Connor watches it for awhile with the intention of focusing so much he becomes invested, but his design kicks in and he eventually critics, "They should've heard the door open since the lock is made from a specific metal with a weight that emits a sound at a slightly lower pitch than most, making it easier to hear. And the killer, who is the female lead's thought to be deceased brother, left the—"

"Whoa, whoa wait! Have you seen this already?!"

"No, this is my first time watching a movie."

"Then how the fuck do you know who the killer is when it's only been an hour?!"

"All the evidence points to him. The warning the killer carves into his victims is an acronym for his name. All the victims so far have come in contact with his sister at some point, and he's very protective of her. He matches the height of the killer too."

"You bastard. Is this how it's gonna be with you now?"

"These types of films tend to be predictable. All the jump-scares come at the same opportunity, when it's quiet and the music is building up—" he jumps visibly as the female lead pulls open her closet and a broom falls in to her.

"You okay there, Connor?"

"I wasn't scared, if that's what you think. I was just...startled."

Hank laughs, "You were scared shitless."

* * *

 

_**Friday,**  10:10 am _

Connor is impressionable.

They catch the second culprit walking along a vacant, run down street. The second he notices they're watching him from Hank's car, he turns and runs.

Connor catches him in no time and restrains him against the nearest wall, pulling his hands behind to handcuff.

"Get the fuck off me,  _tin can_!"

"You're under arrest for vandalism and terrorist acts against civilians. You have the right to remain silent but anything you do say can and will be used against you in—"

He violently shoves back, "I said get the fuck off me! Who the fuck cares if a couple androids roast in a fire?! You lot will never be like us! Just you wait, you'll all be scrapped!"

Connor roughly turns him around and glares, "I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth! You're just a close-minded, fucking vandal who thinks endangering innocent lives to make a petty statement makes him tough. Well it doesn't. And if you think a scumbag like you is going to get off with an easy sentence, you're one of the more deluded humans."

"Fuck you!"

Connor pulls him away from the wall and hands him over to the officer they called to take him down the station and charge him.

"Holy shit, Connor." Hank says, breathless from having to catch up to his athletically superior partner. "Don't hear you curse often."

"I was just implementing the intimidation techniques you use."

"The fuck you talking about? I curse 'cause I'm pretty much done with 99% of the shit I gotta deal with." 

"Oh...well, it worked still."

. . .   

_10:55am_

Connor is existential... _like the rest of humanity._

Hank's staring at the back of his jacket, the blue gleam across the definite 'android' label, "You still wear that thing."

"It's my uniform."

Nah, Hank thinks. It's more like a label. Like a 'you're just this thing' and it gives him an irritating migraine the longer he stares and the iconic blue light stares back. "You don't see the rest of us walking with 'human' across our backs."

"I've never been one to hide my intentions. I'm the android sent by Cyberlife but a part of the DPD. I may look human but I know I'm not. I don't require anyone to misinterpret me either."

Hank pats his shoulder, "Don't worry about it, Connor. You're just as human as the rest of us."

"Well, not tech—" Connor's head gets a firm but fair tap and he knows that means to stop and just accept things. Rubbing it softly, he says, "...Thank you." instead of carrying on, and that earns him another pat on the shoulder. "Have you turned in your report on me yet?"

"Not yet."

"It's due today."

"Yep."

"If you turn it in unfinished or late, Captain Fowler won't be pleased. Based on previous conversations, right after he compares the number of warnings you have to a novel, he'll—"

"I don't give a shit. Fowler can stick it."

" _Lieutenant_."

Hank waves the oncoming lecture off. It'll take more time for him to figure out the ins and outs of his partner entirely.

It's been three months, two of which he's spent with an android and one with someone still trying to find out who they are. There's time for some of those existential questions to be answered now now, but when Connor knows and is ready. Hank trusts he'll let him on it,

"So what you gonna do now?"

"Inform Markus that the culprit has been apprehended. Then I'll be checking on a tip off about another robbery supposedly happening within the next hour."

"We just got done with this case and you're already on another one."

"It's our job."

"You're a good kid, Connor." he praises the way a father would a son. The way a friend would another friend. The way a partner would too. It's all of those things in one. "You think you can handle it by yourself?"

"Yes but I'd rather work with you."

Hank nods, "Alright. Give me five with Jefferey and I'll be out in a bit."

"Be  _nice_ , Hank."

Hank smirks, "Give me your perspective of nice, Connor."

Connor leaves with his head shaking like he's disappointed, but a hand excitedly playing with his coin as he anxiously waits for action.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading if you did, I hope you enjoyed it! ❤ ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ
> 
> ***** Here's my [tumblr](http://ssubby.tumblr.com/) if you wanna gush over DBH with me.


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